


Couldn't find it in the bottle but I think I've found it in your eyes

by favefangirl



Series: Sterek one-shots [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Derek is a Good Friend, F/M, If You Squint - Freeform, Laura is a caring sister, M/M, POV Derek, Stiles is not a good friend, allison and scott have a daughter called Kira, and alive, based on a tumblr au/prompt/post, everyone is human, everyone wants whats best for stiles except stiles, in a fashion, ish, mentions of drug and alcohol consumption, not dark stiles but not exactly light stiles either, sort of, sort of a dark fic, sort of dark, sterek, stiles is sad deep down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 05:09:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7921753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/favefangirl/pseuds/favefangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I stare at my reflection in the mirror for a few seconds and wonder when mine and Stiles' relationship became this. Me running to his rescue every time he calls...Making sure he gets home okay after getting drunk or high or both...being the only stable thing in his life now...Basically being used by him, and then tossed aside as soon as the sun comes up...<br/>I remember Scott saying once how he wasn't always like this, how his mother's death broke him, that he was once a really great guy. I think I would have really liked that guy. But this Stiles, this one needs to learn to look after himself before he goes and does something really stupid, like get himself killed. I hate what he does to himself, and how he doesn't even care that he's wasting his life. </p>
<p>Or, Stiles gets drunk a lot and Derek comes to his rescue</p>
            </blockquote>





	Couldn't find it in the bottle but I think I've found it in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This only took four months to write... geez. Anyway, this is kind of dark, but not like violent, just feelings and stuff. IDK.   
> This is based on [this](http://rainiestmood.tumblr.com/post/131143337747/gimme-a-plot-where-basically-muse-a-is-this) Tumblr post.

"He's bad for you." Laura warns, putting her now empty wine glass on the table.

"I know," I reply.

"But you're leaving anyway, aren't you?" She sighs turning to look at me with kind eyes. "I guess that's what love does to you."

"I don't...It's not...That's not it, it's not like that." I protest, pulling my jacket on.

"Der, you're my brother and I love you, but that boy is dangerous. He's throwing his own life away, don't you dare let him do the same to you. One call and off you go to save the day, it's not good." Laura says, standing up to tuck a loose strand of dark hair behind my ear.

I quickly kiss her on the cheek, and grab my car and house keys from where they're hanging on the rack. "Don't wait up." I call over my shoulder as I walk through the door. I hurry along the long corridor, down the stairs, and out of the apartment building into the parking lot beneath it. The Camaro engine fires up at the first turn of the key, and then I'm on the open roads to some frat party across town. Trust Stiles to end up there.

I don't know this neighbourhood, just following the GPS instructions, until I'm outside a house with music spilling onto the street. Stiles is nowhere in sight. I sigh, cut the engine, and climb resentfully out of the car. Some girl - who looks about fifteen wearing far too little for such a cold night - throws herself at me as I pass. I have to politely tell her I'm not interested and untangle her long arms from around my neck.

Inside the house, the music is even louder than out. People are everywhere; drinking, dancing, making out. I smell something that probably isn't legal, and make a mental note to wash everything I'm wearing when I gets home. Twice. There are strobe lights flashing everywhere, casting everything the sort of glow you'd expect from some sleazy bar, and I dread to think what sort of trouble Stiles has got himself into this time.

I find Stiles on a table, grinding against some guy who can't be much older than eighteen, if at all. I growl and push past the crowd of people who have gathered to watch the spectacle. Stiles' forehead is resting on the guy's shoulder, his arms around the other's waist. The other guy has one hand on Stiles' ass, the other in the hairs on the nape of Stiles' neck. I press myself to the front and tries to get Stiles' attention. On the third time of calling his name, Stiles finally looks around. He sees me and grins.

"Der!" He cries, stumbling towards the edge of the table, much to the disappointment of the people around me.

He misjudges the length of the table, and ends up falling. The crowd explodes into cheers as I quickly move forwards, and catch him in my arms. He grins at me as I put him on the floor, and the crowd starts to disperse, clearly realising the show is over. I guide Stiles through the house and onto the garden by his shoulders, ignoring how he talks excitedly about everything and nothing.

Stiles hurls on the grass, and I pat his back reassuringly, hiding the cringe on my face. I've never been very good with bodily fluids - blood, vomit, you name it - especially not in such close proximity. Once he's done, stiles straightens up and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and I can't help but grimace. Stiles is less averse to getting into the Camaro now, and I can't help but fear he might be sick in it as well.

"Thanks Der, you weren't busy were you?" Stiles slurs, rolling his neck to look at me.

I think of Laura at home, and how we were having a quite night in with a DVD. How for the first time in three months we were actually going to spend proper quality time together. How we were halfway through The Breakfast Club - my favourite film. How Laura is still at home watching the breakfast cub, and I'm driving Stiles - who is drunk out of his mind - home from yet another party.

"No." I lie.

I'm used to this. Stiles and I met in college, and he was really into partying there, too. We were roommates, and whilst I was focusing on studying and papers, Stiles was more worried about where the next party was. I was always looking after him, getting him home when he was too drunk to do it himself, tucking him into bed. It was like I was a parent, and he an irresponsible child. It still is.

"What's your boss going to say when you rock up at work tomorrow with the mother of all hangovers?" I ask as we pull up outside Stiles' apartment building.

"Please, Derek, not another one of your lectures." Stiles groans, pressing his head back into the seat.

"All I'm saying is when are you gonna grow up? You can't spend the rest of your life getting drunk and high." I huff, glaring out of the wind screen.

"At least I don't still live with my sister." Stiles spits, turning to frown at me.

"Fuck you Stiles." I hiss, "One day, when you call, I might not answer."

"You're right, you're doing me a favour, thank you. Not many people would be this good to me. I'm sorry." Stiles sighs, offering me an appologetic smile.

I sigh and nod. "C'mon." I say, "You need to go to bed."

~

~

"Hi, I'm Erica. Laura's friend? You must be Derek." A blonde woman - Erica - says, striding forward confidently, her hand extended.

"Hi." I breathe, shaking her hand.

"Laura has told me so much about you!" Erica beams.

I just nod, blush, and gesture for us to head into the restaurant. Erica just keeps grinning at me, but there's something predatory in her eyes. A little malice behind her smile, something dangerous in the curve of her lips. I can see why she and Laura are friends. She has a fearless air about her, almost like she is scared of nothing and no one. It's enchanting in a bizarre sort of way.

A waiter seats us, and hands us a menu each. The restaurant is very classy, everywhere adorned with dark reds and expensive woods, I can see why Laura told me to bring Erica here. Across the table from me, Erica is smiling down at her menu, occasionally flicking her eyes up to glance at me. I can't help but blush and admire her pretty features, how sexy the dress she's wearing makes her look, how her golden locks frame her face.

As the night goes on, we discover we have lots in common. We love the same movies, and have the same taste in music. We're both ambitious, and really want to go places in life. We both love our friends dearly, and would do most anything for them. For a scary few seconds I think Laura told her about Stiles, but Erica doesn't mention anything, so neither do I. Instead the conversation moves onto our dream pets.

We're just about to order desert when I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. I grin past the dread pooling in my stomach. The third time it rings, I realise that there's no escaping it. Politely, I excuse myself, lying about needing the toilet. I make my way through the maze of tables to the men's room. It's empty, luckily, and I fish my phone out of my pocket. On the screen it says I have three missed calls from Scott, one of Stiles' friends.

"Scott, what's up?" I say into the speaker when Scott answers his phone.

"Okay, don't get pissed, but Stiles needs you to pick him up from some party." Scott explains, and I can almost hear the fear in his voice.

"Sorry, I'm on a date, someone else'll have to get him home." I say abruptly.

"There is no one else. Isaac's in Paris and Lydia and Danny are both working." Scott replies.

I growl a little before replying, "What about you?"

"I'm at the hospital, Allison's in labour. I should be there _now_ , please Derek. Stiles needs you." Scott protests, and he no longer sounds scared, now he sounds tired.

Begrudgingly I agree and hang up. I stare at my reflection in the mirror for a few seconds and wonder when mine and Stiles' relationship became _this_. Me running to his rescue every time he calls...Making sure he gets home okay after getting drunk or high or both...being the _only stable thing_ in his life now...Basically being used by him, and then tossed aside as soon as the sun comes up...

I remember Scott saying once how he wasn't always like this, how his mother's death broke him, that he was once a really great guy. I think I would have really liked that guy. But this Stiles, this one needs to learn to look after himself before he goes and does something really stupid, like get himself killed. I hate what he does to himself, and how he doesn't even care that he's wasting his life.

I make my way back into the main restaurant and see Erica sat at the table looking around, that fire in her eyes replaced by fear. I don't deserve her, and Stiles doesn't deserve me, and this whole thing is one vicious cycle that never ends and I hate it. Hate him and what he does. This is the last time, no more running to his aid. He's old enough to look after himself, and I have a life of my own to focus on.

I smile apologetically as I sit down and open my mouth to speak. Before I can say anything, Erica says, "It's him, isn't it. _Stiles_." I can only nod dumbly. "Laura said to expect something like this."

"What else did Laura say about him?" I ask, a blush creeping into my cheeks.

"That you're in love with him." Erica replies, smiling kindly.

"I'm not in love with him."

"She said you'd say that, too." Erica says, laughing softly.

"I'm really sorry." I offer, "I'll pay for your cab fare home? Or drop you off? And dinner's on me, obviously."

Erica shakes her head slightly, and her golden hair bounces. "I'm walking, it's not far away. You should go, get your friend."

I nod, and place the money for the meals on the table. I slip on my jacket as I make my way out of the restaurant, towards the Camaro. I type the address of the bar Stiles is at into the GPS system, and then I'm driving. My head aches a little, and my limbs feel heavy, but I haven't had any alcohol, so I'm really fine. Just super pissed, and about ready to give Stiles a piece of my mind.

The bar looks dark and dingy, it's a total wreck, even by Stiles standards. There are young women strolling down the streets wearing far too little and smiling far too much when I pull over onto a curb. I climb quickly out of the car and lock it behind me before speed walking into the bar. It's just as run-down inside, and some indie band is playing but no one is listening to them.

I spot Stiles almost immediately, with his tongue shoved down some young blonde guys throat, pinning the stranger between his own hard body and the even harder solid wall, grinding their crotches together. With a growl and a shake of my head, I storm over and physically pull Stiles off.

Stiles complains some as I drag him by the hand through the bar and out onto the street, but I'm not listening. I left a perfectly nice woman to walk home alone at night when anything could happen to her for this, a drunken guy who still acts as though he's in high-school and doesn't care about anyone but himself. I'm furious, with Stiles but more so with himself.

I always allow himself to do this, to come running when Stiles calls, allow myself to be the knight in shinning armour in this corrupted fairy-tale. Because the princess is drunk and high more than they are sober, and the handsome prince is nowhere to be found because Stiles always pushes everyone away. I'm the only one left standing.

And I know I can't abandon Stiles, because I honestly don't know how Stiles would cope on his own, and I'm still his friend. Even if most of our friendship is me carrying him home when the alcohol and drugs have numbed him so much he can't do it himself, he's still my friend. My poor, delusional friend who needs to start acting his age.

Stiles complains even more as I force him into the front seat of the Camaro, but I don't care. And I mean it, I really, really mean it. I don't. I don't care if he hates me and never wants to speak to me again, he's so drunk and God only knows what else, and I'm taking care of him like I always do. And it's for the last time because I _don't care_ anymore. I physically cannot bring myself to care. I am so, so done.

I drive Stiles home in silence, I don't even bother to turn on the radio, just grip the steering wheel and concentrate on the road. Stiles stays silent, too, whether through anger or something else. And I hate that this is what we're like now, two lost souls wandering around in search of something. Me, a good career and a happy life. And for Stiles, well, I don't know. But apparently he thinks he'll find it at the bottom of a bottle.

We arrive outside Stiles' apartment building, but Stiles doesn't move to get out of the car. "He was legal," he says, quietly.

"I don't care." I reply, shrugging.

"I'm sorry," Stiles chokes, tears appearing in his eyes and falling in a salty trail down his cheeks. "I'm so fucking sorry."

I pull him into me after a moment's hesitation, his head resting in the crook where my neck and shoulder meet, his arms wrapping around my bicep. Mine wrap around his waist, holding him to me, feeling his shallow sobs against my throat. Something inside of me aches, and I grip Stiles just that little bit tighter.

"Shush, it's okay, it's okay." I soothe.

"You were right, I need to grow up!" Stiles wails, pulling himself closer to me.

"It's okay," I repeat, but I'm not sure even I believe it.

"No, it's not." Stiles says pulling away, his eyes red and wet with tears that haven't fallen yet.

He looks at me quizzically, like he's trying to figure something out, then pushes forward, and presses his lips against mine. This kiss is wet and salty, and I can taste the bitter alcohol on Stiles' breath, but none of that stops me from kissing back with just as much force. A little voice at the back of my mind tells me to stop and think rationally about what I'm doing, but then Stiles bites my lip - I'm not sure if he does it on purpose or by accident - and the voice suddenly goes silent.

I pull away when I have to breathe, but I rest my forehead against Stiles', afraid to pull back for even a second. I keep my eyes closed, trying to process everything, my heart pounding in my chest. I think Stiles has stopped crying. His hands have found their way to either side of my face, and my own are rested on his waist, gripping only lightly.

"I love you."

Stiles whispers it like it's a secret, like it's the most precious thing he knows. But there's apprehension in his voice, and something similar to fear, and I wonder if maybe he's scared I'm going to reject him. I'm still not sure I'm not going to. There's a million and one things buzzing inside my head, and it's starting to ache.

"I love you," Stiles repeats, voice a little louder, a little stronger. "I want this, me and you."

I consider his words for a few seconds before replying, "If we do _this_ , you can't go on like you are. You have to grow up, Stiles, be responsible. Not for me, but for yourself."

Stiles nods, and pulls away. I open my eyes finally, and look at him. He's biting his lip, a nervous habit of his, and searching for something in my eyes. I'm not sure what he's looking for, and I'm not sure if he finds it, but he nods at me. I'm not sure what he means, I'm not sure of much, but I guess that he's saying he'll try to change if it means he can have this. He _can_ have this, if he wants it.

"No more drinking yourself stupid, no more drugs, okay?" I press, making sure he knows I'm serious.

"Okay," He says, nodding quickly. "Whatever it takes, Der."

I allow myself to smile, and it eases him. He gives me another, shorter kiss before turning around and getting out of the car. I watch him walk to his door, then turn around and wave. I wave back, grinning without meaning to, but unable to stop myself once I start. I think he grins, too.

~

~

I get the text whilst I'm at work, _Date? Friday? Dinner? -S_. I can't help the smile that crosses my features, and pretend not to notice the questioning glances from my colleagues, instead typing my reply, **_Sure. I'll pick you up at 8. -D_** It takes Stiles only a few seconds to text back, _Great. See you then. -S_.

~

~

I spend most of Friday nervous. Okay, that's a lie, I spend _all_ of Friday nervous. The apprehension builds all day in the pit of my stomach. I'm extremely jittery when I get home from work, and shower before beginning to get ready. I'm taking Stiles to a nice restaurant, so I dress nice.

Laura raises her eyebrows at me when I go into the living room, to use the mirror whilst I gel my hair. "I take it your date with Erica went well, then?" She asks, teasingly.

"No, I'm not going on a date with Erica." I reply.

"Then who?" Laura frowns.

"Stiles." I mumble before trying to sprint out of the room before Laura can reply.

" _Stiles_?" She hisses angrily, "Derek-"

I hold up a hand to silence her as my phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out, and answer Stiles' call, excitement fizzing in my gut. "Hey Stiles." I say, feigning calmness.

"Hey, Der, I'm so sorry, but I'm gonna have to take a rain check for tonight." Stiles replies immediately. "Really sorry, maybe next week."

Then he hangs up, and I'm left staring blankly at my phone. I look up, and Laura is mimicking my questioning expression. Her dark eyebrows are raised, eyes wide, mouth turned down in a frown. I suddenly feel very stupid stood in a suit, my fingers still a little bit sticky from the gel. In fact, I feel like a complete idiot.

"Don't bother." I say gruffly, before leaving the living room and hurrying upstairs to my bedroom to change.

~

~

I'm asleep when my phone buzzes again. This time it's Scott and I don't try to keep the anger out of my voice when I grunt, "What," down the line.

"I'm so sorry Derek-"

"I'm not going to pick Stiles up form some club, I'm not doing that anymore." I interrupt, knowing from the sound of his voice what he was going to say. I pretend not to feel the hurt boiling in my stomach. He had promised...

"I know about you two, he told me. I know you made him promise to change, but..." Scott trails off, apprehension in his tone.

"But what? He didn't even make it a week, Scott. Not even one fucking week." I huff, too tired and annoyed for games, a frown painting my face.

"It's the anniversary today." Scott mumbles, the lack of comfort evident in his voice. "The anniversary of his mom's death. He doesn't know how else to handle it, Derek. He's been with guys in the past who didn't care for sob stories, and so he's adapted to keep it bottled up. But take one more chance on him, alright? He loves you, and I think deep down you love him too."

I wait a second, growl and reply, "Where is he?"

~

~

This bar is by far the worst one Stiles has ever ended up in. The walls have damp creeping across them, the floor is covered in what looks like rat droppings, and there's a severed moose head that gives me the creeps as I walk by. The bartender is old, with a wart above his lips and a toothpick hanging limply out of his mouth. The scene looks like it belongs somewhere in a western, not here in the city.

Stiles is hard to find despite the scarce amount of people, and when I spot him, he's sat in a dark booth at the back of the bar surrounded by empty beer bottles. I see some guy with greasy hair and an even greasier smirk stare at him, and gesture to his friends, so I speed up my movements until I reach Stiles. Stiles is so out of it, I don't think he even recognises me as I haul him up and sling on of his arms over my shoulder.

I hobble out, half dragging, half carrying Stiles along with me. Grease-guy looks pissed, so I send him a sneer as I walk through the door of the bar. I didn't even notice the horrific scent until I'm out in the open, and can't smell it anymore. Stiles mumbles something as I wrestle him into the Camaro and fasten his seatbelt for him. I slam the car door shut harder than necessary, and Stiles flinches, before leaning into the cool glass of the window. I rush around the front of the car, slide into the drivers side, and fasten my own seatbelt.

My knuckles ache as I pull up outside Stiles' apartment building, from gripping the wheel so tightly. I turned on the radio to drown out Stiles' incoherent muttering that was beginning to give me a headache, and the car is bathed in silence once more as I shut off the engine. I unfasten my seatbelt, get out of the car, walk around the front and open Stiles' door. It takes a couple of milliseconds before Stiles is leaning out and hurling onto the grass at the side of the parking lot. I hop back, and awkwardly stroke his hair, thanking God that non of it is splashing onto the car.

Once Stiles has done vomiting, he wipes his mouth on the hem of his shirt, and looks up at me. He seems to recognise me, as a small smile appears on his lips and he mumbles something that sounds like my name. I lean across him and undo his belt, before pulling him to his feet and letting him lean most of his weight into my side. I close the door and lock the car, before looping my arm around Stiles' waist to better support him.

We stumble across the dark car-park, through the door into the building, and I glare at the stairs. We take it one stair at a time, and I have to catch Stiles once or twice as he nearly falls over face-first, but we manage to make it to Stiles' floor in about five minutes. I grumble that the building needs an elevator as I pull Stiles along to his door. Stiles manages to dig his keys out of his pocket and unlock the door all on his own, and I think maybe the alcohol (and whatever else) is wearing off a little bit.

Stiles opens the door, and flops forward. I manage to catch him in time before he hits the floor, and haul him back so he's upright once more. We stagger into the apartment, to Stiles' sofa, where I sit him down. I hurry into his kitchen and grab a clean glass out of his cupboard, fill it with water, then walk back into the living room. Stiles has his head rested back against the sofa, his eyes closed.

"Hey Stiles," I say softly, "stay awake for just a little longer, okay?"

Stiles nods lethargically, and his head droops forwards, but his eyes pry open all the same. I hand him the water and crouch in front of him, undoing the laces on his sneakers. He drinks the entire glass in one and mumbles a 'thank you', watching my actions through lidded eyes. I take off both shoes, then his socks, tucking them inside. I take the glass from him, and place it on the coffee table behind me. I reach up, and undo the button on his jeans, before tugging down the zipper.

"I'm just gonna get rid of these, okay? Then we'll get you to bed, okay? Is that alright?" I ask, making sure he knows what's happening.

"S'okay." He mumbles, nodding his head again.

I tug down his jeans, and he lifts his hips a little to help me. Then, I begin unbuttoning his shirt, revealing inch upon inch of pale skin. I slide it past his shoulders, and he shakes it off the rest of the way. I lift him up by his armpits, and he rests against my side as we stumble towards the bedroom. I've done this before, found Stiles so off his head he couldn't even get himself into bed. Usually he can muddle his way on his own, but there was just one other night where he couldn't.

Stiles' bed is unmade, and I slip him into it, pulling the covers to just over his chest. He snuggles down deeper and his eyes begin to close. I walk back into the living room and grab the glass before entering the kitchen. I fill the glass with water, then search through his cupboards and drawers until I find a packet of Paracetamols. I press two out of the metallic coating, and put the strip back into the box, then the box into the cupboard where I found it.

I walk back through the silent apartment into Stiles' bedroom and find him watching me from beneath his covers. "Do you hate me?" He asks, barely above a whisper.

"No," I reply truthfully.

"Are you mad at me?" He then asks, nibbling at his bottom lip.

"A little." I admit, placing the water and tablets on the beside table.

"I'm really sorry," Stiles chokes, tears pooling in his eyes, one falling and leaving a wet trail down his cheek.

"I know." I say brushing the tear away, before straightening up and turning to leave.

"Wait," Stiles calls as I reach the door. I turn around and he continues, "I'm sorry, but I just don't know how else to cope." He sits up in his bed making the covers fall to his waist. "When I get drunk or high it doesn't hurt anymore and I can deal with it better." Stiles confesses, blushing.

I take a step back into the room, "Stiles you have people queueing up to help you," I say, not unkindly. "Scott and Allison, Isaac, Lydia, Danny." I list, then add, "And me."

Stiles shakes his head and looks down at his bed as he says, "Scott and Allison have Kira now, Isaac's travelling, Danny and me have never really been that close and Lydia hates me more and more each day." He looks up and meets my eyes, "And you..." he trails off.

I sigh, "You said you love me."

"I do, I have for a long time." Stiles admits.

"And you said you'd try to change." I continue. Stiles flinches, and I go on, "And we were going to go to dinner tonight, on a date, like a proper one."

"And I fucked it all up," Stiles says, laughing bitterly, tears still falling.

I take another step into the room, another step closer to Stiles. I can see the dark circles beneath his eyes which are red from crying and probably something else, too. He's pale and frail, too skinny with jutting bones. I knew before, but realise properly now that I love him back. Laura's tried to tell me for years, Scott has, even Erica who knew me a matter of hours said so. And I did, I am in love with him. I just want to wrap him in my arms and tell him everything will be okay, even if it's a lie, and make him better again. Like the Stiles Scott knew once upon a time.

"Scott told me about your mom," I confess for the first time ever, and I watch his features fall. "I lost my family, too. You could have come and talked to me, I of all people would understand."

"I guess I was scared," Stiles whispers.

"Scared of what?" I reply, softly.

Stiles shrugs, "That I'd open up to you, and you'd see just how fucked up I really am."

I shake my head and say, "I love you, there's nothing you could say to me to change that. And I want to be with you I just..."

"You want me to grow up." Stiles supplies.

"I don't want to change you," I explain, "I just want you to be able to talk about stuff instead of delving into the bottle every time your life sucks. I want you to know I'm your friend above everything else, but I don't want our entire friendship to be me coming to the rescue every time you get too drunk to drive and end up sucking-face with a barely legal. I want to take you on proper dates where you're sober enough to know what day of the week it is, and actually hold a conversation. I want you, Stiles, but not _this_ you."

Stiles nods and sobs, "I want that too. But I've been on my own for a really long time."

"I don't expect it to happen over night," I soothe. Stiles nods. "And you won't be on your own, I'll be there every step, I promise. And the others will too." Stiles nods again, and I nod in response. "Call me in the morning, and we'll talk, okay?"

Stiles nods and I smile at him before turning to leave again. "Wait," He calls. When I'm turned back around to face him he says, "Please don't leave me tonight."

With a sigh and a small smile, I shrug of my jacket, and kick of my shoes. I shed my shirt, too, before climbing into the double bed behind Stiles, who turns to face me. I press a soft kiss against his lips, then place one on his temple as he cuddles into me, wrapping his arms around my waist whilst I wrap mine around his shoulders. I don't know if Stiles can change, and if he can, whether her will. I've been alone for a long time, too, and now it's like I have a family again (Laura notwithstanding). But even as I pull Stiles closer into me, I wonder whether it's worth risking my heart on one more chance...

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment, and kudos if you enjoyed it! If you have any questions, feel free to ask me!


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